The Hunt is on ...

So I came downstairs on Sunday morning in somewhat of a groggy daze (as I usually am when young Master Jack wakes up at 6:00) to find that we had unknowingly hosted a visitor bearing gifts in the night.

Looky here my friends at what appears to be a just a quiet, unassuming living room badly in need of some blinds.

But look closer ... back in the far right corner of the room ... is that ...

It IS! It's Jack's Easter basket! That rascally Easter Bunny picked a good hiding spot this year, no?

So I released the wolves ... uh - wolf ... uh - puppy and the hunt was on! First Jack checked out the wooden lantern near the stairs :

That's not your basket, Jack!

I tried to get him to move on but he just would not leave that wooden lantern alone:

He pushed the lantern with one hand while crawling behind it and was halfway to the dining room before I took the lantern and turned him around to get back on track. "Now he will surely find his basket!" I thought. Not quite ...

Apparently the little monkey on the little palm tree was even more fascinating then the lantern. Note to self: eliminate all knick knacks before next basket hunt.

I moved him closer to the corner of the room where the basket was hidden. He crawled right by it twice and didn't see it. Then when I finally pointed it out to him he looked right at it then crawled in the opposite direction.

Apparently not a big fan of Easter Bunnies or Easter Baskets.

I dragged him back kicking and screaming (no really - he was actually kicking and screaming) and made him look at his basket until he realized how cool it was. "LOOK Jack blocks!" I exclaimed and "Hey Jack, check out that super cool book!". All the while Jack stared out into the distance, seemingly unmoved by the Easter loot bestowed upon him, daydreaming about his long lost wooden lantern. Damn that thing!

Finally Jack realized how cool his Easter Basket actually was (read: faked it so I'd leave him the %$#@ alone) and agreed to show his appreciation by posing for a picture with it.

Jack says: Thanks Easter Bunny (bawk bawk)!

ELEVEN months!!!

The countdown to one year is on! Soon I'll have to decide if I'm going to quote his age in months alone (he's 15 months) or a year/month combo (he's a year and 3 months). I think months alone is acceptable up until their 2nd birthday. After that it just gets confusing. I actually had a mother at Target tell me that her daughter was "27 months". Come on now lady - don't make me do the math. The only kind of math I "do" occurs on weekdays between 9 and 5 and involves a calculator. This is Saturday. And why the heck would I have a calculator on me at Target?

(To keep a running total of my purchases as I add them to the cart in order to stay within my budget, you say? Nah. I like my grand total to be a surprise when I get to the checkout. Keeping track as I'm going just takes all the excitement out of the shopping experience. I'd feel like I was cheating myself. That would be like going to see the fireworks but leaving before the grand finale. Insert "You gotta give it to Mike for putting up with her" comments here.).

But I digress. My point is -- just say she's 2 and be done with it. Whew. Sometimes I talk so much I actually wear myself out.


And now I present the happiest 11 month old on the planet ...

Easter teaser ...

Jack says "Gimme a carrot!"

The Bunny

Jack LOVES The Easter Bunny!




And by "loves" I mean "hates with every inch of his tiny little being". As does his mama after the hour wait in line to see him (altho her "being" is not so "tiny").

You'd have thought I would have learned after the trip to see Santa, right? Well you'd have thought wrong. My rational was "Hey - it can't take half as long as it did to see Santa. I mean it's not like you sit there forever and tell the Easter Bunny what you want for Easter right?". Somehow my rational was seriously flawed because I swear the bunny line moved about half as fast as the Santa line.
Note to self: Stop relying on self devised rational.

The wait was made all the much more enjoyable by the two boys (I'd say about ages 3 and 5) directly behind us in line who apparently had been snorting and or shooting up sugar for the previous 283 hours. They were escorted by their 80 year old grandmother who had NO business being left alone with and in charge of these two boys. Many a slap on the bottom/face/head/whatever-body-part-grandma-could-reach was given. The old bitty kept us quite entertained ...

Granny: Hey don't hit. (grabs the kid. hits him) I SAID don't hit!!!

Way to lead by example...

Granny: What ARE YOU DOING? Hey are you SPITTING? GROSS. Stop it stop it RIGHT NOW. That is disgusting. Snakes and wild dogs spit.

Do they now? You learn something new everyday!

Granny: (after slapping the youngest one across his face for sticking his tongue out) That is NOT nice. Oh now you're gonna cry? Stop. Stick your thumb in your mouth and STOP CRYING!

Parenting at it's finest!


I'm almost upset the experience is over. Oh well ... only 8 more months until it's time for Santa pictures again!